


Unfollowed

by DestinedForJohnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-22
Updated: 2013-02-22
Packaged: 2017-12-03 06:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DestinedForJohnlock/pseuds/DestinedForJohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's gone and John has a nightmare. Set to the song "I Will Follow You Into The Dark" by Death Cab for Cutie. Dabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfollowed

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers: I do not own the characters or anything related to them. All characters belong to BBC and/or Sir Author Conan Doyle.

_John._

The voice was no more than a ghost in John’s mind, leaving him tossing and turning in his bed as he slept. It usually left the sheets tangled around him. 

_John, I’m home._

“H-home… Sh’lock,” John muttered in his sleep, unconsciously slinging his arm over the edge of the bed to leave it there, useless.

_I’m here, John._

His arms were open wide and his coat pulled at this shoulders, exposing his lean, pale wrists and hands. He beckoned for John, his body reaching for him. John, in his dream, stumbled toward him. There was a pull in his body to close the distance between him and Sherlock. A bright light was shining behind his friend and it glowed brighter and brighter, as if the sun itself was plummeting toward them. But the outline of Sherlock’s body was still there. The faint smile in his eyes matched in promise that the light behind him cast. 

John’s legs were weak, but he urged them to carry him further, faster. With an outstretched hand, his pace increased to that of a light jog. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweaty in anticipation. He called out in a voice choked with fear and grief. “Sherlock! Sherlock, Sherlock, oh _Sherlock_ , please don’t go!”

_Anything for you, John._

He realized he wasn’t getting any closer to Sherlock, no matter how far he went. Desperation took hold of him and he hurried. Faster and faster, he ran toward Sherlock, arms swinging at this sides. The path there was ragged and bumpy, and he tripped a couple of times, regaining his balance as quickly as he could. 

_Come home, John._

The endless cycle stopped abruptly and the distance between John and Sherlock’s figure was closing rapidly. Just seconds away, he was panting hard, and in the last few feet he practically threw himself at Sherlock.

Just before he made contact, before he could fall into Sherlock’s arms and press against his warm body to be enveloped in the comfort he longed for and needed, Jim Moriarty stepped out from behind Sherlock, gun pointed directly at John’s head, and shot.

John jerked awake, his pillows being thrown to the floor and his gun making a loud clacking noise on the hardwood floor beside his bed. The ringing of the gunshot was still in his ears when he looked around his room for any sign of another person. There wasn’t anyone there.

Alone. Alone definitely did not protect him.

He turned back to his pillow once he had calmed down and shut his eyes tight, trying desperately to look for Sherlock again, to find that smile and billowing coat, tousled hair and longing gaze. But it was useless. Sherlock’s image was lost in the darkness behind the lids of John’s eyes, not to be found at will.

Sherlock had left John in the dark. And, as much as John had wished he would, he hadn’t followed him there.


End file.
